


Those in the Know

by PFDiva



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Femdom, Fuckbuddies, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><a href="http://yveltale.tumblr.com/post/44227386258/breathes-really-hard-because-alpha-dersecest-fics">Someone</a> wanted Alpha Dersecest.  So I made it happen.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Those in the Know

**Author's Note:**

> [Someone](http://yveltale.tumblr.com/post/44227386258/breathes-really-hard-because-alpha-dersecest-fics) wanted Alpha Dersecest. So I made it happen.

You don't bother to knock on the door before walking in, because you know it will be open.

Only a select few know this place exists, and you consider yourself privileged to be among those in the know.

Dave is lying on the futon, some old Crocker reruns playing on the TV in the background, and with his shades on, you can't tell if he is asleep or playing dead so that you don't scold him for creasing another of his Very Expensive suits.

As usual, the place is a complete pigsty, littered with food wrappers and food boxes and things that look like if you stare at them too hard, they will stare back.

"Do you ever feel like the world's lying on its side, completely off-kilter and just wrong as fuck?"

"So you are awake."

"Answer the question, Lalonde."

You rest your elbows on the back of the futon and pretend you don't notice him staring down the plunging neckline of the very revealing dress you wore just for him.

You know he's staring, and he knows you know he's staring.

He appreciates the view, and you appreciate the attention.

"I know what life we came from, Dave.  I remember all of it.  This life always feels like it's lying on it's side."

"How do you deal with it?" he asks your breasts as he pushes aside the fabric, his fingers cold against the sensitive skin he bares.

You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut, enjoying his touch.

"I look for what's familiar.  My writing.  Sburb.  Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. All of you."

"So Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff is a universal constant?"

"Mm-hmm.  But you were 13, so it was shittier."

His thumb flicks against your nipple in retaliation, and you giggle out a breathless laugh.

He's smiling when you open your eyes to look down at him, and you remove his sunglasses so that you can see the contrast of bright eyes, bright hair against the pretty orange undertones of his brown skin.

"We didn't do this in the other world."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway, tangling your fingers into his artificially straight hair, and using the anchor of his fine, close waves to pull him closer.

"We were 13 and I had more appealing romantic prospects."

He laughs softly and follows the urging of your hands, applying his mouth to your skin.

Ooo, he is so good with his tongue.

You keep the futon between the two of you for as long as he can bear, but you know that your nails scratching up his neck and shoulders and back are slowly driving him wild, because he does his damnedest to tempt you around to join him on that side of the futon, his mouth hot and wet, his fingers bruisingly-strong against your skin.

When he growls and plants one foot on the futon, preparing to jump over, you laugh low in your throat and step back and away, your dress dragging across the nasty floor, only just barely held up by the straps caught in the crook of your elbows.

"Dammit, Rose, why do you always DO this to me?"

"Because you let me.  Because you like it.  Now sit back down, like a good boy."

He trembles all over, his hands clenching the back of the futon, his eyes gouging holes into you with their intensity.

You love it.

And so does he, because he takes a deep breath before settling to his knees, his stance wide.

On another day, you'd make him sit properly, or tease him until he was humping the back of the futon, but you are feeling merciful and horny, so you let the dress fall to the floor, revealing yourself in all your nude glory.

You had very specific plans when you came over here, after all, and had decided against undergarments.

You walk sedately down the hall to the bathroom, making sure that your heels click against his floor every step of the way, taking your time retrieving the condoms and lube.  He'll be nude by the time you get back.  It's a game you two like to play.

You get hit squarely in the face by a pair of Spongebob boxers on your way back, and decide to captchalogue them.

"You know you're not getting those back, right?"

"Why Rose, noone ever told me you had a fetish for men's boxers!  Gasp and shock."

"Be good, or I won't make YOU gasp at all."

He chuckles in that way that tells you he doesn't believe you, which is fair enough, because you're lying.

You saunter around the futon, and he obligingly stands to let you sit down and spread your legs for him.  He kneels on the floor between your legs and gets straight to the good stuff.  The man is excellent with his tongue, and that is why you keep him.

And he's so enthusiastic about it.  You've accused him of having an oral fixation in the past, but he's threatened to do something about it if you keep hounding him.

In an astoundingly short period of time, you are gasping his name and digging the heel of your left shoe into his spine, your right foot sliding desperately against the floor.

He doesn't stop when you whimper with overstimulation, and you'd be disappointed if he did.  You instinctively attempt to squirm away, but even without his strong hands holding you in place, there is just barely enough space on the futon for your hips.  If you managed to get away, you'd fall off.

He grabs your other leg, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold them in place around his head as he continues to make you writhe.  You take the hint and lock your ankles, squeezing his head between your thighs and forcing his face harder against your vagina in retaliation.

You reach your orgasm again, faster this time, and this time, you nearly suffocate him between your legs. You can feel him gasping for air within the folds of your thighs as one of his hands releases you to do something that makes him quake against you.  Not that you have any doubts about what he's doing.

He shudders hard, going deathly still for a moment before he begins pulling at your thighs.  That is not the safeword. You do not relent until he begins tracing letters against your hip with damp fingers: C-R-O-C-K-E-R

You promptly release him, and he gasps for air against your thigh, trembling with aftershocks.  You lazily pet his hair, your limbs loose and sloppy.  You would be disappointed with his showing thus far, but the night is young and he will be ready to go again in a few minutes.

"I love fucking you, Lalonde," he gasps into the crook of your hip.

"I love fucking you, too."

You do not tell each other 'I love you,' because it is not true and means nothing next to the more important truth: You trust each other.

If only because it's hard and noone else understands.


End file.
